8. Cameron
Cameron
Fingers drumming on the table. I keep going back and forth from stirring my lukewarm hot chocolate to checking the time.
I’m not the nervous type. Nothing has ever really made me nervous, not Med School, not taking my first patient, not my first surgery, not even the time Wes dared me to answer a question in a lecture using only medical puns, and I ended up accidentally telling our stone-faced professor that his explanation really “stroked my curiosity”—which resulted in a lecture on professionalism and a permanent ban from sitting next to Wes during class.
Yet it seems like anywhere Gabrielle is concerned, my nerves go haywire.
I don’t know what it is about her. No other girl has had the same effect on me as she has.
Maybe it’s everything we went through together, maybe it’s the way I saw my whole life playing out with her in it for as long as I could remember, or maybe it’s the way I never thought I was good enough for a girl as perfect as her but I never stopped trying to be.
Get yourself together, man. She’s just a girl.
Except I can try to keep telling myself that, but I know she’s not just anything, not to me.
I can do this. It’s just hot chocolate. Just a casual meet-up between two people who used to know each other better than anyone else. So why does it feel like I’m about to sit down for a job interview where the position is ‘man who might get his heart stomped on’?
I take a deep breath, trying to shake it off.
She might not even show, and I’ll be all worked up for nothing.
Then, the door chimes, and when I look up—
Yeah, scratch that whole pep talk, I’m screwed.
She stops in the doorway, scanning the cafe, clearly just as nervous as I feel.
Then our eyes meet, and I can’t breathe.
I thought I was prepared for this, but the second I see her, I’m hit with just how wrong I was.
It’s like she owns every place she steps into without even trying.
She’s never known how beautiful she is. She stayed in such a tight shell growing up, it looks good to finally see her out of it.
The low hum of conversation, the clinking of mugs, the whir of the espresso machine—it all dulled the second my eyes landed on her.
She’s all sun-kissed warmth and golden undertones now, like she’s been soaking up every bit of life after being outside of those sterile walls.
And those sky blue eyes, in contrast with her dark—almost black hair, have always been my weakness.
Her eyes have been burned into my memory ever since I was a kid. Bright, sharp, impossible to ignore. They’ve always been a contradiction—soft and fierce, open yet impossible to read all at once.
And right now, they’re staring right into my soul as she walks towards me.
She showed up. She’s really here.
Something deep and primal rolls through my chest.
She’s beautiful. Have I said that already?
But not in just some casual, passing-through kind of way. Not in a, she’s attractive, I should ask for her number kind of way.
No.
She’s wreck-you-from-the-inside-out beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes you forget everything else. The kind that has you questioning every decision you made that ever kept you apart.
She hesitates for half a second, biting her lip before finally stepping forward.
I immediately try to cut the tension. “I guess Wes owes me twenty bucks. He didn’t think you’d show.”
She smiles, then shrugs, “Doctor’s order, remember? They say you should never ignore professional medical advice, so.”
“Remind me to thank whoever ‘they’ are,” I say, smirking.
She slides into the seat across from me, and for a second, I forget how to make conversation like a normal human being.
She’s avoiding my eyes.
She’s nervous, which means I’m not the only one who feels like this moment is heavier than it seems.
“So,” she finally says, curling her hands around the steaming mug the barista just set in front of her. “What’s the verdict? Does this place live up to the memories?”
I huff a quiet laugh. “You’re the one who made me into this hot chocolate snob.”
Blowing gently on her drink to cool it down, she slowly looks up and catches me staring at her. Her lips curve up knowingly, and I continue.
“I’ve tried the hot chocolate in every cafe I’ve come across, and nothing can touch the hospital cafe’s or The Cocoa Bean’s hot chocolate. But I think that might have more to do with who I associate the taste with here.”
She hums in silent agreement, and we just sit there for a moment, soaking it all in.
Drumming my fingers against the table, I linger on her profile for a second before asking the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue since she sat down. “What made you decide to show up?”
She lets out a shallow breath as her grip around the mug tightens. “For the hot chocolate,” she answers. But there’s something else behind it. Something more.
I tilt my head slightly, giving her a knowing look. “Voss.”
“Okay, for the hot chocolate and maybe…I was just curious.”
“Curious?” I ask, intrigued.
She finally looks back up at me. Our eyes meet, and I feel that same electric pull that’s always existed between us.
“Curious about you,” she admits. “About…who you are now.”
I swallow hard, my smirk softening just a little. Because, if we’re being honest. I’ve been wondering the same thing about her.